


If It Brings Me To My Knees

by Amarei



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I want it known that while this is ultimately an exploration of c/t, Multi, also, and Cersei/Euron, and slight mentions of Cersei/Robert, brief mentions of and slight instances, but not important enough to properly tag, c/j exists here too, how could it not?, since i can't tag c/j as anything higher than (slight), small appearances by Tywin and other assorted figures, still I wanted to warn, tw: abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amarei/pseuds/Amarei
Summary: Cersei hurt others to be sure, and without remorse, but no one ever dared harm her. And who could? She who brought the sun to mind to all who knew her: bright, and beautiful, and dangerous should one get too close. Tyrion himself had feared that danger all his life.orFive times Tyrion drunkenly almost confessed his feelings for Cersei, and the one time he did, sober.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister (slight), Cersei Lannister/Tyrion Lannister
Comments: 39
Kudos: 64





	1. Five and Ten

The wedding guests had long gone and his sister was now a queen. 

“Father will be leaving in a fortnight,” his brother said one night as the three of them dined together in the new queen's quarters, “tell him now and he'll call off the whole thing!”

Tyrion hadn’t heard the whole of it, he knew only that in the moon since her marriage began, Cersei seemed less and less enthralled by her royal husband with each passing day. Naturally, her twin saw fit to be irate on her behalf, for whatever it was that plagued her so, and Tyrion just hoped it wasn’t enough to make him a king slayer twice over, should the mood strike him to do so.

Cersei's eyes burned brightly as she offered her twin a response, her solemn face twisting to rage as she spoke, “Call it off? Don't be so _thick_ Jaime! Father wouldn't care if Robert whipped me through the streets so long as the crown stay on my head.” 

She paused, and for a moment Tyrion thought his sister seemed close to tears. _Has the king hurt her in some way?_ he wondered. That didn’t seem likely. Cersei hurt others to be sure, and without remorse, but no one ever dared harm her. And who could? She who brought the sun to mind to all who knew her: bright, and beautiful, and dangerous should one get too close. Tyrion himself had feared that danger all his life.

“No.” she continued, “I won't tell him, and neither will you. Or _you_.” 

She turned to her youngest brother and paused for a moment, her delicate features painted with a severity not uncommon to Tyrion’s eyes. The anger he understood, that was always there whenever she looked at him. It was the sadness he wasn't prepared for. _So she_ has _been hurt_ , he knew then, and he understood Jaime’s rage immediately. 

"Fine,” Jaime said sullenly as he poured more wine for each of them, “I'll just have to kill him _myself_ I suppose.”

Tyrion grabbed at his cup with two hands, and drank deeply as he watched their faces react to what was just said. Jaime's jaw clenched as he set the pitcher down, his stare matching Cersei's in every way, letting her know that he’d meant every word. His brother's weakness, his _only_ weakness Tyrion suspected, had always been their sister. Cersei's face softened in a way it only ever did for her twin, and Tyrion knew she knew it too.

“No,” she said finally, “he'll kill _you_.”

“Fine.” Jaime replied in defeat.

And that was that. 

Until Tyrion laughed into his cup, spilling wine all along his tunic. Not quite a man grown, he had only recently discovered the joys of drink, and was not yet aware of his level of tolerance. 

“What's so funny?” Cersei snapped, the normal look of disdain returning to her face.

The thought had come to him many times before during lessons on the subject, much to his own embarrassment, but he’d never dared speak them out loud. Wine, however, turned even the wisest men into fools, his maester always said, and Tyrion was deep in his cups by then.

“Nothing,” he chortled, “Well, ok. It's just--I was thinking of what it would be like if we were Targaryens, that's all.”

“What the hells has that to do with anything we're talking about right now?”

Tyrion struggled to respond to his sister in a way that wouldn’t incriminate him, “Well, to start, Jaime could have a dragon. The king couldn’t kill him if he had a dragon you know. And perhaps we all could have them, then we could burn _anyone_ who did us harm.”

“The dragons are all dead, you half-wit,” she countered unconvinced.

“Just _listen_ to him Cers, it's all in good fun,” Jaime said, finally smiling again, “besides, are you so sure you wouldn't like to have a dragon to bring down all your foes in a single fell swoop?”

“Alright. Fine.” she offered, “Can I start with him?”

She watched Tyrion over her cup with raised eyebrows. Cersei’s intentions had always been rather easy to read, yet this, for not the first time that evening, made him both confused and curious as to what exactly lay behind the brightness of her emerald eyes as she continued to stare at him, daring him to be affected by her words. He chose instead to ignore the insult and continued, “ _Also_ , if we were Targaryens, you could marry whoever you wanted, and he would never hurt you, and you would never be sad.”

“Gods Tyrion, you're as doltish as Jaime aren't you?” his sister laughed before taking another sip of wine, “that's not how it works at all. And since when do you care about my happiness?”

“I don't,” he lied, “and that _is_ how it works if I recall correctly. You'd have to be a Targaryen. If you wanted to marry your brother that is.”

Jaime spit wine in a coughing fit, accidentally spraying Cersei’s hair in the process, “ _What?!_ ”

“What kind of _disgusting_ \--” Cersei started, but Tyrion cut his sister off with raised hands.

“It’s just an _imaginary_ if, just a thought.” he smirked, drinking again. 

Both of his siblings sat across from him with identical looks of embarrassed panic on their faces, and Tyrion, who’d expected a poor mummery of quick denials and diversions, was surprised to see a genuine terror at the notion that he’d just then uncovered a secret he’d known and kept for most of his life. For not the first time, he felt sorry for them, if not a bit jealous.

He began again slowly, “ _If_ , you could marry your brother, if it were lawful for you to do so, and if he were kind to you. And loved you. And treated you with dignity and respect. And told you that you were beautiful, and intelligent, and always made you laugh. And father wouldn't kill the both of you to allow it to be, would you do it?”

Cersei sat silent at first. Her eyes were looking towards Jaime, her mirror’s image in every manner of things except the one that mattered, and she found comfort in his smile. She then turned to Tyrion, defiant as she looked firmly into the eyes of someone he imagined she couldn't find one trace of _sameness_ in, even if he himself had found a thousand. 

“It doesn't matter what I want,” she said with defeated resolve, “it just isn't so.”

She spoke with a calm honesty Tyrion hadn’t expected. The wine had made her foolish too.

Jaime spoke after a time, flashing his most charming grin at her as he did, “ _Ah_ , you would if you could though, I hear your brother’s _roguishly_ handsome.” 

Tyrion watched his sister's smile return, as if Jaime had used some hidden key to unlock it, and he knew his brother’s words to be true. _If_ the brother Tyrion had been asking about _had_ in fact been Jaime, Cersei would marry him without a doubt in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in show!universe, and these are actually snippets of a larger piece I'd been working on since before the final season. 
> 
> It's been bugging me to just get something out lately, and with the slight uptick in C/T fics lately, I was inspired to join the party and turn a small bit of some of my notes into this, I hope y'all dig it and thanks for reading!


	2. Two and Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a vulnerable beauty in sadness, and when she wasn’t angry, his sister was always sad it seemed. Perhaps that was why Jaime found it impossible to stop loving her. Perhaps that was why he did too.

He hadn't been allowed to travel beyond Casterly Rock in some time, so it was a surprise when his father asked him to join the party that was travelling east to celebrate Prince Joffrey's fifth nameday. 

It was the first time Tyrion had seen his nephew since he was a babe, back when he'd been little more than a squalling, red-faced blob, permanently attached to his sister's teat. Now, he was a squalling, golden-haired terror, who found nothing so amusing as the fact that he stood nearly at eye level with his _Little Nuncle_. The whole court had laughed the first time the princling spoke the term, as he’d called Tyrion over to see his new pony, and none so louder than his mother.

“Oh, it's because he _likes_ you,” Cersei told him as they supped in the private quarters he shared with father during their stay, “better he want to play with _you_ than that dour-faced dolt Clegane. Besides, you're of a similar size.” As she chuckled into her glass, he was reminded of how inclined his sister had always been to laugh at her own jokes about him, as overused as they were, and how much he hated her for it.

“And what of _actual_ boys his own age?” Their father's voice cut through finally, “I saw none about. Does he have no companions of an age with himself?”

“What?” Cersei spoke softly as she toyed with her food, hoping to avoid their father’s glare, “Would you have me let a prince of the Iron Throne play with kitchen welps?”

Lord Tywin was not amused by the sarcasm in his daughter’s tone, “You know well what I'm saying, _girl_ . When does the _king_ intend on sending the prince to foster and begin his training among boys that would one day be his vassals?”

“As his mother, I don't think--”

“And as _your_ father, I'm telling you what would be most _effective_ in raising a good and learned heir.”

Tyrion watched as his sister raised her glare to meet their father’s in defiance, “As you raised Jaime?”

It happened so quickly, Tyrion thought he'd imagined it. 

The way Cersei held her reddening cheek however, told him that the deafening sound of their father's hand landing swiftly against her skin had been very much real. 

Lord Tywin rose quickly, “You never learned to hold your tongue. For the good of the realm, you would be wise to make sure your son has half a mind to know when to hold his.”

Staring down at her plate once more, Cersei’s green eyes were ablaze with both fear and fury, and Tyrion knew not which of those it was that kept them from catching their father's gaze as he exited the room, but he was glad they hadn’t. 

“Yes, _Father_ ,” she finally allowed mockingly, once she was sure she was safe from his hearing. 

Her brightened cheek looked as if it would be hot to the touch had he tried, and he knew that there would be a mark on the morrow. Her already full lips were slightly more swollen, the tears she was trying desperately to keep from falling made her eyes flicker bright in the candlelight, and Tyrion hated himself for thinking it made her all the more beautiful. There was a vulnerable beauty in sadness, and when she wasn’t angry, his sister was always sad it seemed. Perhaps that was why Jaime found it impossible to stop loving her. Perhaps that was why he did too.

“I'm sure he'll apologize on the morrow. You're his queen. _And_ his favorite,” Tyrion tried to say with a tinge of cheeriness, when the silence had gone on so long he was sure she'd forgotten he was in the room with her.

She turned slightly, a scowl settling into her face as she spoke, “And you're an idiot. _Jaime_ is his favorite. You'd think you of all people would know that.”

“What-- _Me of all people_? What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means _this_ ,” she said gesturing her hands in the air, “all of this, father's temper, his concern about Joff's rearing, _all of it,_ is because of that nonsense you pulled with that peasant girl. Did you ever stop to think of what an embarrassment that would be to the crown? To Father?!”

“To _you_ you mean?” he felt the anger rising in his throat, “And here I am almost feeling sorry for you! I should have known you'd find a way to blame your unhappiness on me. No, it has nothing to do with father being an insufferable cunt, or you just never knowing when to _shut up_ and leave things be!”

"What's there to leave be?” she spat back at him, “Father was _just fine_ before you made a mockery of our house by marrying that _whore_ , and now I have to suffer his meddling irritations because you can't be bothered to at least _try_ to be a halfway decent heir!"

Tyrion laughed bitterly, "As if me trying would mean a thing. I'll never grow the extra two feet he requires, just as you'll never grow a cock. Sad as that may be for you."

The fury rose in her eyes, "Would that I could! _I_ would at least have the decency to respect my house, my _family_ , and pay for my whores in secret and gold instead of marriage."

He shrugged, staring defiantly back at her, "Some whores are paid for in coin, others with crowns. I'd have _much_ preferred the latter, but it seems there were none left to be sold, so I made due."

The slap that followed was no surprise, though it hadn't hurt quite so much as he'd expected it would. The feel of her hand, as small and delicate as it was, made him laugh as it made contact with his face, "Sweet sister, have you forgotten how to jest? You wounded me, so I wounded you back in kind, that's how this has always worked has it not?" 

Cersei slowly moved to sit again, pushing her glass forward as Tyrion moved to fill it once more. Before long the wine jug was empty and they’d come to an armistice of sorts through fits of laughter.

~~~~~

“And _then_ , he had to pay double just to buy his own horse back!” he told her as he lay laughing on the floor beside the table, “I can’t believe Jaime never told you that.”

“I can’t either!” his sister’s face was flushed and there was a wide grin he hadn’t thought her capable of spread across her face.

“Ooh! Let’s go get him shall we? We’ll fetch him from his post and get another skin of wine, and we’ll--”

With her elbows propped on the table, Cersei’s head balanced in her hands. Thick, golden curls fell messily into her face, muffling her voice as she spoke, “Tyrion…”

He rose unsteadily to move towards her, lightly pulling at her arm to bid her follow him to fetch their brother.

“Tyrion stop,” she pulled her arm free of his grasp, “I have to go.” 

“But, we have to get Jaime. It’ll be fun, you’ll--”

“You don’t understand,” her grin was fading quickly, “I am the queen. I haven’t the _time_ for childish games anymore.”

“Well, that’s a stupid rule,” he felt unsteady on his feet and his laugh was awkward as he tried to reassure her, “If it were _my_ kingdom you could have all the fun you wanted.”

“But it’s not your kingdom is it?” Cersei offered back sharply, slowly rising to start the journey back to her own chambers.

Tyrion sighed, “No. I suppose it isn’t.”

And as she took her leave, he felt stuck in place, unable to pull his gaze from her as she walked towards the door.

“Cersei...” he’d waited until she was nearly to the room’s entrance before he found his voice again to speak. She turned towards him once more, the beautiful sorrow writ all along her wine blushed face, daring him to speak his last words and quickly. 

“If it were--” he started, “if it were my kingdom, would you stay with me then?”

The small smile she gave him could have hidden all the world’s secrets, yet Tyrion wanted the answers to none in that moment more so than to know the feel of her perfect lips upon his own.

“Sleep well baby brother,” she said almost sweetly, leaving him alone with thoughts he’d convince himself were only dreams of drink come the break of day.


	3. Seven and Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What they had he would never know. You couldn’t buy that kind of love, that kind of devotion, though he did try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the rating to 'Explicit' because of this chapter, and it's the first time I've ever posted anything like it, so please bear with me.
> 
> I'm trying to write a Tyrion that progresses to the Tyrion we see in season 7, and write *his* mind's eye of the Cersei we see headed towards the same (whilst also trying to allude to his observations of her not always being the most sound or set in reality). With a combination of my own personal takes on the character and a bit of 'I also can't ever all the way subtract how I think/feel about book!Tyrion, specifically when it comes to his treatment of the women around him', this chapter is much darker in theme than the previous two, and I just wanted to give a heads up to anyone that's not comfortable with that.
> 
> Thanks as always for stopping by, and I hope you enjoy!

His sister danced with all the grace of a swan in flight. 

Nearly every eye in the hall was upon her as she took turns partnering with different lords and sons of lords, all in service to House Lannister, and Tyrion wondered how the young bride sat at the head of the high table felt, watching her queen take away all of the praise and attention that should have been hers by rights on the day of her wedding.

The girl, born of a lesser house, was wed to one of Tyrion's multitude of cousins, which of whom he could not remember as deep in his cups he was. He only knew that his father had offered up the Rock for the celebration, and as such had strongly suggested that Cersei make her way west to be in attendance. His Grace, King Robert, had declined of course, listing his duties at court to be too numerous and too demanding of his attention so close to harvest. A lie most like, a simple way to rid himself of his loving wife and their brood for more _entertaining_ company Tyrion was sure, and from the carefree way his sister moved about the hall, engaging with her subjects like the Maiden come to life, he'd wager she cherished the king's absence as well.

~~~~~

Sometime after the third or fourth rendition of _The Rains of Castamere_ , Tyrion was feeling himself drift towards sleep whilst stuck in conversation with Emmon Frey, who'd married his Aunt Genna years ago, much to Lord Tywin's dismay. Not long after he'd finally come up with the perfect excuse to take his leave, did Jaime come stumbling towards him, pulling a giggly Cersei by the arm behind him, “Let's go brother. Don't ask where, just come with us.”

“But they haven't done the bedding!” 

Frey had chimed in from beside him and Tyrion had to agree, “That _is_ the best bit brother, would you have me send our cousin off into a happy marriage without my blessing?”

“It's barbarous,” Cersei offered, her face aglow with obvious drink, "and no blessing at all. Tell it true, you only want a look at the poor girl's teats and ass you little lecher.”

“Well,” he offered back, not kindly, “it has been so long since I've partaken in this so very ancient and _noble_ ritual, it’s hard to be sure. In fact, I think the last pair of teats I gave my blessed gaze to were your own, sweet sister. Now _that_ was a wedding feast to remember, though so very long ag--”

“Now, now Tyrion,” Jaime cut in while trying to keep Cersei from accosting their brother physically, “leave the bedding to the rabble, and follow me. Farewell Uncle, and bid our cousin seven blessings from us all!”

With that, Tyrion followed his siblings from the great hall, down the stairwell that led to the private guest’s quarters. Even in their drunken, stumbling states, Tyrion had to near run to keep up with the long strides of his brother and sister. 

Although he'd sworn to wear the white cloak near fifteen years before, Jaime was every bit the image of a son of House Lannister tonight. His leather and velvet doublet were the deep crimson of their banners, and a roaring, golden lion was stitched in silk along his chest. He looked more a prince than a kingsguard, and when matched with Cersei, who was leaning on her twin to keep from falling while looking just as elegant in her golden-hued silk and myrish lace gown, Tyrion wondered, for not the first time since their visit home began, why the gods saw fit to taunt him so, to be so oddly matched a brother to beings such as this.

“Just this way,” Jaime whispered, “These aren't being used by anyone, and I've brought more wine. We can talk alone down here where it's quiet.”

“There was wine upstairs,” Tyrion laughed, amused by his brother's dislike of the chaos that he seemed to be born to attract.

When they entered the chamber's empty sitting room, Tyrion was surprised to see a fireplace going and several candles already lit.

Cersei, ever the observant, noticed the same. “Alone are we?” she directed at her twin as she flopped down on a velvet couch close to the warmth of the fire, “Then who may I ask prepared all this?”

Jaime smiled devilishly, “Why do you assume it couldn't have possibly been the fruits of mine own labor?”

“Because,” Tyrion joined in, “you're much too pretty to have to build your own fires and I've never known you to step foot in a kitchen, never mind know how to find anything in one.”

He walked over to the side of where Cersei sat nodding in agreement, her nose already deep in a cup of wine. There was a table there with a small assortment of treats from the feast upstairs, and Tyrion poured himself some wine as well.

“Ah. You've the right of it,” Jaime admitted as he pulled over another chair, “but, I'll have you know, I've built many a fire in my life. Some even, in the _cold and rain_.”

Cersei's head fell back as she laughed out loud, “And _here_ we are! We've reached the war tales portion of the evening.”

“Oh, come now sister, I love it when he drones on about his valor in the trenches!”

Jaime playfully kicked at his brother, nearly falling from his seat, “Pour me a cup of that, or I'll go on all night!”

~~~~~

Day soon turned to night as they sat laughing and regaling tales of times past, unaware of how much time had gone by. Jaime was now lying on the floor beneath the couch Cersei lay on, and decided to bring the conversation back around to the present day's celebrations, “So baby brother, shall we be travelling home again soon for your own wedding feast?”

“Gods I hope not,” Tyrion answered glumly, “although of late, Father's been threatening to try and find a match.” Even in his drunken state, the idea of his father’s failed attempts to bargain with even lesser lords on his behalf for a bride put him in a sour mood.

“Well, you are nearly _thirty_ ,” his brother said pointing out the obvious, “it's probably past time for you to give up your scoundrel ways and settle into a nice quiet marriage, with a nice quiet girl, and make some heirs for House Lannister.”

Cersei nearly choked on her wine, “And bring to ruin every whore house from here to King’s Landing? Please Jaime, at this point Father would have an easier time waiting for Tommen to come of age.”

The mocking tone in which she’d said the words quelled all of the cordial cheeriness he’d gained through drink that evening, and he could not stop the tirade that followed. 

“Oh, that'd be just _perfect_ for you I bet,” he sat up in his own chair to look at her straight on, “and to think, I never imagined you'd be able to grow one cock in your ever growing quest for power and control, and here you've grown two! One to go on the Iron Throne and one in my rightful seat--tell me, was that your plan all along? Or is it the wine making you _stupid_ again?”

Fury and disgust burned bright in her green eyes, “Oh, shut up you little _demon_. I was only making a jest. It must not be far off from the truth for it to anger you so…”

“You want the truth? All right, I’ll give it to you: I could visit every brothel in Westeros once a day for _a year_ and I still wouldn't spend half as much as Robert does on his whores. And that's not including you of course, his decadent tastes being what they are.”

“ _All right_ , stop it you two…” Jaime finally cut in, rubbing his temples as if in pain from the drama of it all.

“No Jaime, he's right,” she said, ignoring her twin’s plea to hit Tyrion back in kind, “Robert and you both share a disgusting habit for paying women to lie to you with their thighs open, Tyrion, but at least he didn't have to trick one into marrying him. Seriously baby brother, what lord in his right mind would give their daughter over to _you_?”

“Robert seems to have done his fair share of mummery as well, if my memory serves me,” he spat back at her, “Exactly how many days into your marriage was it again? Before you realized your dashing hero of the Trident was as much a brute as I am an imp, that is? It truly is interesting Cersei, that you'd think me a worse option for a husband than a man who openly dishonors you at every turn and consistently rewards your efforts with welt marks. I had no _idea_ so many women enjoyed being beaten, perhaps I'll try it with my own bride some day, since she’ll surely take no joy in me otherwise!”

“Tyrion, _enough!_ ” He'd only rarely heard Jaime raise his voice, and never once at him. The disappointment on his face was almost enough to make Tyrion regret what he’d said.

Cersei rose suddenly from her seat, “I have to go and check on the children.”

Jaime caught her arm, “Wait. I'll go with you.” 

It was then that Tyrion realized, for Jaime, Cersei would always come first. Tyrion had only been fooling himself these twenty-seven years believing he'd come even close to what she was for him. What they had he would never know. You couldn’t buy that kind of love, that kind of devotion, though he did try.

~~~~~

Under the cover of night, he slipped from the castle and descended onto the town below. By now, Jaime had consoled their sister far away from the nursery that the children she had borne him rested in and was likely drowning in a tangle of gold. Golden fingers softly caressing his entire body, jolts of lightning bringing him alive in a way one can only be in the midst of love making. Golden lips kissing him warm in places that made his blood race and his heart beat out of his chest. Long, slender golden legs wrapped tight around his waist, urging him desperately to bury his hardness into the depths of her golden warmth, so deep that all the world fell away around them in their oneness. Jaime would be painted all in gold until the breaking of the new day, and Tyrion wanted the same.

The brothel keep hadn't had to be told what he wanted, it was always the same, “I'll send her up to you as quick I can m'lord”

“Good,” he said, setting a pouch with five golden dragons on the counter, “and I want her all night this time.”

“Of course m'lord. Of course.”

~~~~~

Tyrion made his way to a room on the very top floor of the establishment, leaving the loudness of the hall below to the bawdy sailors in search of a night's comfort before heading back to their traders come the morrow. Once inside, he removed his cloak and shoes before settling onto the bed, as familiar to him as his own, and found his place in a book half-read while he waited for a knock on the door.

Finally, the soft tap came, immediately making his heart beat faster. “Come in,” he’d barely choked out, and she was there. 

He judged her to be only slightly younger than himself, though he'd imagined a life on one’s back would age even the most nobly bred of women. Low-born as she was however, with the right clothing and adornment, she could have easily been taken for any of the hundreds of kin he had running around Lannisport. Janna was her name, not uncommon for the region, and no doubt she was a Hill of some kind, though whether she belonged to a long distant kinsman or one of his uncles he wasn't sure. That she was some bit Lannister however, was apparent, and probably why she cost so much.

Her hair fell in bouncy, golden curls well past her shoulders, eliminating the Lannisters of Lannisport, with their limp, tawny tresses. Her lips were full and blush as a spring rose, her eyes two orbs of bright green, flecked with gold, much like his father's. Had he not known Lord Tywin to be almost pious in his abstinence from women since Tyrion had taken his wife from him, he'd have wagered the girl to be of his father's doing, so striking was her resemblance to Cersei.

Yet there was mildness to Janna that his sister did not possess, “Pardons for coming up late m'lord, I was helpin' Mariyah in the kitchens. She broke her wrist and she can't knead dough right.”

He put his book down to take her in, “I had no idea you could _bake,_ and I told you, it's _my lord_ in here, remember?”

She smirked at him, undoing the buttons on the front of her dress as she walked closer to the bed, “There's a lot you don't know about me, _my lord_. Almost finished with that book?”

As she reached him, he pulled her down on top of him, “I don't want to talk about books, _Your Grace_.”

She kissed him then, smiling a bit as their lips met. He knew she loved it almost as much as he did when he addressed her as such, the words themselves permission to transform themselves into exactly what they wanted to be. She, the highest born, most powerful, most cherished woman in all the land, and he, the well respected high lord that gets to fuck her into morning.

She straddled his hips to unlace his breeches, his cock straining against the leather to be set free. As she fumbled, he reached up to bring a tanned nipple towards his lips, flicking his tongue slightly just before covering it entirely with his mouth. She let out a small moan and he closed his eyes, seeing Cersei in the dress she'd been wearing at the feast earlier, her teats a tease for him all evening as low cut it was, and he wondered if they still felt as good as these after giving suck to three children. He felt himself harden more at the thought. 

Reaching down with his other hand, he lifted her skirts to find the warmth between her legs. When he began to tease her nub with his thumb, she arched slightly, giving him room to gently push inside her with two fingers, the wetness of her entrance a welcome sign of her readiness for him. “ _Gods_...that's so good m'lord,” she whimpered under his touch. 

Letting go of the soft flesh of her breast, he smacked her ass, hard, “ _My_. _lord_. Your Grace. Though I cannot lie. I've always known you had the spirit of wanton whore, deep down.”

With that he grabbed hold of her waist and flipped them so that he was atop her. “Take off that gown my queen,” he growled as he worked to rid himself of his own clothing, “I want to see you.”

As the soft curves of her sun-kissed body were revealed to him, he took himself in hand in anticipation of entering her. Each stroke made his cock ache more for the wet depths between her legs, and as his eyes closed once more in pleasure, it was his sister's devilish smile that made him quicken his pace. 

“As you command, my lord,” Janna's voice brought him back to the present. 

She now lay before him, devoid of all clothing, her legs spread apart so that he could see her fingers working where his had been just moments before. As sinful as it all was, her voice was soft and her smile was sweet. It was all wrong, and he knew it then: Janna was a house cat, but Tyrion wanted a Lioness.

“Turn over,” his breath was ragged and he needed to be inside her, but the softness of her face would not do. He needed passion, and rage, and a fierceness he'd imagined a thousand times over as he’d brought himself release with thoughts of Cersei ( _only Cersei,_ _always Cersei_ ) on his mind.

The girl did as she was bid, and the sight of her ass raised, knees spread open for him, brought him back to where he needed to be. “I see you're ready for me, Your Grace,” he spoke in a low voice as he rubbed his cock along her slippery entrance and pushed inside her before she could utter another sweet word, her only response a low moan to match his own as she moved to match his rhythm. _There you are_ , he thought, tightening his grip on her buttock to steady himself as he quickened his pace.

Her hair was a wild crown spread across the sheets, curling even more tightly at the base of her neck where it was soaked with sweat. He reached to grab the soft tangles, pulling slightly and as he did he felt her tighten around him, the heat of her nearly blinding him. “You feel so incredibly good, my queen. So _fucking_ good,” he moaned.

“Mmmhhhmmm...you...feel...good... _tooooo_...my…”

“Don't speak,” he snapped, with another swat to her ass. He was so close and he wouldn't have it ruined with the sound of a strangers' voice. 

Feeling the swell in his cock, he moved to hold her hips tight with both hands, trying to fit as deeply inside her as possible, before he spent himself within. “Gods... _Gods Cersei_ , I feel my seed coming...you feel so fucking _good_ ,” he panted his words with ragged breath. Her cunt tightened around him as he spoke, and the breathless moan she gave along with it was enough to bring his release completely.

As he removed himself from her and watched his seed run down her thigh, he thought of the sons his brother had planted in Cersei, and how his father would probably get exactly what he wanted in the end, and didn't even know it.

“ _What lord in his right mind would give their daughter over to you ?_ ” his sister had asked him earlier that night.

_None, sweet sister. Nor would I take her if he did._


End file.
